by Peter Cry
Alfred stretched out his hand at meetings, to acquaintances, thinking only about when the handshake would end. But most of all he was afraid of being patted on the back by his colleagues at work after a successful arrest or closing a case. He struggled with it, slowly making headway, and it would eventually pass. Thank God that there were not so many women in the police, and it was not necessary to shake their hand when they met.
The pupils and the young officer did not notice how the time flew and soon the lesson was over. The bell rang loudly, and the children, forgetting everything, scattered in different directions. During the big break, Graham Hill classrooms emptied out faster than military barracks during combat alerts.
It took several seconds before Officer Hope and Mrs. Skinner were by themselves in the classroom.
“Do not expect gratitude from them,” the experienced teacher said. “This happens to everyone who comes to us for such classes.”
Alfred got up from his chair and began to put away his fake weapon and ammunition.
“I used to feel exactly the same,” the teacher said. “At first, I was offended a bit, but then I got used to it. They are not doing it on purpose. We used to be the same.”
“Yes, probably,” the police officer responded.
Mrs. Skinner went to the small computer desk in the corner of the classroom and removed her purse from the back of the chair. Throwing it on her shoulder, she returned to the cop. Stretching out her hand to thank him and say goodbye, the teacher suddenly stopped herself and lowered it.
“No, it's all right, ma'am,” Alfred said calmly. “As I’ve said, it's all because of the stressful work.”
This time the young man seemed relaxed and stretched out his hand to her.
“It happens to everyone,” she agreed, shaking his hand. “I have enough stress here. I can only imagine what you have to put up with at work.”
Alfred nodded, straining all his cells to do so. His fingers were holding something cold, soft, almost disgusting.
Realizing that such a reaction was not entirely healthy, he nevertheless held on. When the handshake was over, he felt a relief compared to heavenly manna suddenly falling from the sky.
“Thank you very much for coming.”
“Thank you for calling.”
“We have a couple of classes where a similar meeting could be held. At least that part where you spoke about security rules. What do you think about that? I mean if it doesn’t bother you.”
Alfred shrugged.
“Why not. But only if the girl behind the first desk is not present in the class.”
“Oh my God,” Mrs. Skinner rolled her eyes ironically. “Lily... She always has such problems. And yet you haven’t heard what she told the doctor.”
“I can imagine,” the young officer concentrated on his thoughts for a moment. “Lily is a beautiful name...”
“Yes, you are right. Next time she won’t be here, I promise.”
Alfred was repeating that name around in his head. Under the influence of a sudden attack of synesthesia, he realized that the name brought him not just mental, but also, physical pleasure, filling his heart with warmth.
“My wife will definitely be called Lilly,” he thought.
“Come on, I'll guide you.”
“Yes, it's time to go back on duty.”
The police officer’s 2012 blue and white Chevrolet Caprice was parked just outside Graham Hill School. Alfred loved the sun and warmth, but this time of the year the rays of the heavenly body heated the car and turned it into a sauna. The black leather interior, as well as the necessary patrol equipment, resembling devices from a spacecraft, absorbed heat to the maximum, creating an unbearable smell of plastic and chemical paint, evaporating moisture, and something else.
Huge branches of a tall maple, abundantly covered with green leaves, hid Alfred's car so it remained invulnerable to the rays of the sun. Approaching his car, the officer opened the passenger door. He took off his belt with the spectacular but useless equipment and, from the glove compartment, retrieved real weapons, handcuffs, a taser and pepper spray. Looking around, he surveyed the street, hoping that no one had noticed. Leaving weapons in his car was a serious violation of the rules. But he could not bring firearms with him into schools, especially after all these frequent stories about psychopaths who opened fire on children! Even the police could sometimes break the rules a little.
Having fixed the weapons on his belt, Alfred, looked at the sun preparing to hide behind the horizon, and put on his sunglasses. A light blue-green color saturated everything around. The world through the glasses became cozy and pleasant. Trees along 77th Street made a pleasant noise, swaying slightly from the wind, and a sonorous hum of children's voices created a never-ending waterfall behind the back of the young police officer.
A sports playground, recently built near the school, was filled with playing children who tried to pack dozens of hours of all possible entertainment in one big break. Behind a high fence made of metallic mesh, there were a small soccer field, several sports sites, and, of course, slides.
Children's laughter, continuous giggling, all those moments when happy children were not worried about looking silly, reminded Alfred of streams he could listen to forever.
Approaching the fence, the police officer leaned on it, clinging to the net with his hand, and pressed his forehead against it.
The children's games absorbed him. Someone was about to score a goal – another was testing his climbing skills. Puny first graders were about to start fighting. But Alfred thought about something completely different. Was there a time when he used to be like them, happy, carefree, surrounded by friends? Apparently, not. And that’s probably why children caused him such incredible sadness and a strange feeling of guilt.
“It’s right that they’re fenced in,” he thought.
Knowing what happens every day in Seattle, far from the creepy megalopolises like New York or Los Angeles, he knew that even here danger lurked at every turn. But it was invisible and silent, like a snake.
While respecting his colleagues, Alfred understood that they were more passionate about work unconnected with children. Burdened with a constant concern for their families, they could do little to protect those who could not protect themselves. Therefore, he understood – that it was up to him.
“Keep your eyes open, Officer Hope!” he heard a child shout from somewhere in the playground.
Alfred stopped his contemplation. From the top of a ten-foot sparkling slide a dirty, sweaty, urchin gestured to him.
“I’m watching you.”
“That's right,” the young policeman smiled back. “Keep your eyes open”.
Before returning to his car, Alfred noticed that other children who had been at his lesson, distracted for a moment from their games, also waved to him.
“Apparently, I didn’t do so badly,” he thought.
Nodding his head, feeling warmth and light sadness, he waved back. Having noted the reciprocal gesture, the children immediately returned to their games and the constant noise.
Chapter 10
Helen Escamilla and her partner Steve drove along the highway to the house in which they hoped to find Jason Frost, or at least his strange relative Howard.
Steve did not pay attention to the monotonous snow-covered views sweeping past his window. Sitting in the passenger front seat, he was focused on his smartphone. He was preoccupied with responding to the notifications received on his expensive sparkling toy.
“A new girlfriend?” his partner asked.
Steve smiled mischievously and nodded without taking his eyes from the phone.
“Listen, I always wanted to ask you. Why haven’t you ever asked me out? I am not so bad, you know. Men like me. And you are also tall, slim... Guys like you are usually quite something, if you know what I mean.”
Steve froze. It was not that he was surprised, but rather did not understand the words as if they had been spoken in Chinese or Swahili.
“What… Are you being serious?” he stared at his colleague as if she were insane.
Helen, not taking her eyes off the slippery snowy road, nodded her head.
Confused Steve hid the smartphone in his pocket, sat upright on the seat and pulled himself together.
“Well, err… You know... I like to go out and hang out with the guys in the evening, to come home with a girl, not always the same one. It’s not that I don’t like you. You are an attractive woman...chick. But you... It seems to me... need someone more serious.”
“So, are you saying I'm too smart for you?”
Her partner did not understand what was going on. Realizing that he’d taken the wrong track, Steve tried to express himself more carefully, aware he was treading in a minefield.
“No, absolutely not. That’s not what I said. You misunderstood me.”
“I think we would make a great couple. Husband and wife.”
Steve froze. After a few seconds, he looked at Helen driving with a worried look.
“I think I should have said that a long time ago. I’ve been watching you... And, you know... What I’m trying to say is that I feel that I… that you and me … We are just meant to be…”
“Oh my God, no!” Steve uttered.
“Steve... Will you marry me?”
Turning pale, Helen's partner stopped breathing. This was clearly a moment of breakdown in the system.
From time to time Helen quickly glanced away from the road to look at Steve. There was so much imagined love and sentimentality in her eyes that it would have been enough to fill the hearts of all the church preachers combined.
“Steve... Dearest,” his colleague continued gently. “You should have seen your face just now!”
Laughing out loud, Helen tugged the steering wheel a little to the side and the car nearly skidded.
“You idiot… You scared me… Have you completely gone off the rails?”
“No way, darling. Don’t hold your breath.”
“Fuck you!” Steve retorted, trying to defuse the situation. “You looked so serious I almost agreed. Next time, you’ll have to warn me in the morning to be prepared for a day of your stupid jokes.”
“No, seriously, why don't you ask me on a date?”
“Stop it!”
Helen laughed again, seeing her partner getting nervous at the slightest mention of a serious relationship.
“Now I’ll never believe you,” Steve muttered. “You’re a manipulator.”
The police car passed a turn hidden by the snow. Helen realized it was the one they needed and abruptly braked. Not wearing a safety belt, Steve nearly hit the glove compartment with his chest.
He looked angrily at his partner.
“Quiet! Don’t swear. I missed the right turn because of your hesitation about marrying me.”
After reversing and turning right, Helen drove into a dense grove. Strong gray trunks and branches were covered in snow. A winding road, still about a mile and a half long, led to a white house.
From the state of the snow, Helen realized that vehicles, as well as guests, were extremely rare there.
Passing by a barn, Steve noticed an SUV parked inside.
“He must be at home.”
Snow glistened in the sun and pleasantly creaked under the tires of the car. After a moment, the police car stopped not far from the porch.
Before getting out, Helen honked a couple of times, making it clear that the guests had arrived. Outside, she fixed her warm down jacket, forgetting the winter hat in the back seat.
“Horrible!” Steve muttered through his teeth, buttoning his jacket, and pulling a warm hat with a police cockade over his ears.
“Where the fuck is that global warming? My teeth are chattering. Come on, let’s go inside and ask him for coffee.”
Climbing the stairs of the porch of that isolated house, Helen and her partner did not knock on the door. They were certain that after hearing a car honk, one of the inhabitants would appear and open the door. A minute passed but the door was still closed. Helen and her colleague glanced at each other. Then Steve raised his hand and knocked firmly on the sturdy wooden door.
“Mr. Frost, are you at home? This is Officer Escamilla and Officer Hunt,” Helen shouted.
“It looks like nobody’s home,” Steve said in frustration.
“You saw the SUV parked in the barn, so he must be home.”
Helen knocked on the door once more.
“Maybe he’s in the field. He’s a farmer, isn’t he?”
Steve's colleague looked at him as if he was an idiot.
“In the field? In winter? Sure! Picking tulips. Just the right season.”
“Sorry…You're right.”
Looking around, Helen walked along the porch, deciding to look through the window. There was nobody inside. But from what she could see it was clear somebody was living there and taking care of the house. The living room was tidy, as was the kitchen.
Steve descended from the porch. Maneuvering through the snow drifts, he slowly reached the garage and looked inside. Inside, surrounded by boxes, shelves, low wooden cabinets, and a huge number of rusted tools, stood the brand-new black Toyota Tacoma.
Steve tried to take a closer look at the details. There did not seem to be anything that warranted suspicion – several heavy sacks, with cement or fertilizers, numerous long hoses, shovels, secateurs, hammers, nails in old cans. Nothing to make cops worry.
“There’s a place for a second vehicle,” Steve shouted out. “Maybe they’re out after all?”
Helen left the window and went down the stairs.
Approaching the car, she began to look around.
“Look,” she called out to her partner, pointing her finger upward.
Steve looked and saw something intriguing. Smoke was coming out of the chimney.
“So, do you think he’s not opening on purpose?”
Helen shrugged.
“I don’t know. Honestly, I'm confused. Why would he act like this?”
Steve was freezing. Rubbing his icy palms and putting his hands in his pockets, he shuddered.
“We’ll find out next time, Escamilla. Let’s go. Otherwise, my balls will turn into ice cubes, and we could use them for whiskey.”
“No,” his partner insisted. “We must look around. Search in the field. I’m the daughter of a farmer and I know how the cornfields look in winter. This one is abandoned, there’s no tractor and no barn. And that’s strange.”
“You're paranoid again…Fine, you play Hercule Poirot here, and I’ll wait for you in the car.”
Watching her partner hurry to the car, Helen dismissed him with a gesture of her hand. She re-examined the house and its surroundings suspiciously.
“I’ll go around the house. Maybe he’s not heard us because he’s somewhere around the back.”
Steve nodded helplessly. His fingers frantically ran around the dashboard, trying to turn on the car heater to its maximum.
Helen, mechanically, put her right hand on her gun. Slowly walking around the white wooden structure, she tried to look through the empty windows. She was careful not to do anything stupid out of fear.
The coldness penetrated under Helen’s clothes fueling doubts about what she was doing. On a God-forsaken farm, suspecting its owners of what? Moreover, the house was clearly empty. The fire could have been smoldering in the fireplace because the owner had not completely extinguished it, hence the smoke. She listened intensively to the silence and peered all around her. A sound of crackling branches could be heard from the grove to her left. Snow creaked under her feet, and a raw, icy wind rustled over the field.
Once in the backyard, Helen saw a table covered with snow and two benches nearby, probably used for summer gatherings and a barbecue. This detail was important, the first on the list for those thinking of buying their own house. Helen smiled, realizing that there was almost the same table in her own backyard, even with the same benches. She also had the same
back door, and the same drifts of snow.
Before returning to the car, Helen went to the door and, grabbing the round chrome handle, checked if it was locked.
Assured of that, she knocked on the door with her fist.
“Mr. Frost, are you there?” she shouted.
After waiting for a couple of seconds, realizing that she was wasting her time, and risking getting ill, she headed back to the car.
***
Absolute silence, in which she could hear a loud permanent echo of her own breathing, heartbeat and a slight indistinct noise in her ears, all of that became the norm for Lily and did not irritate her at all. The devastating silence seemed natural after years spent in a small, scary room.
They say that when you lose one of the five senses allowing you to perceive the world around, the rest develop to compensate. A blind person’s hearing and tactile sensations become sharper, a deaf person’s smell and his eyesight.
Almost all of Lily’s remaining senses had been markedly enhanced. She had not lost her sight or hearing, but she was able to see a little better than before the abduction. She heard better, felt, and understood deeper. Apparently, such positive changes occurred in her when she had lost all hope that someday she would leave this pit alive. Something inside of her had to die so that her body would offset that loss by sharpening her senses. Evidently, it was hope.
Lily's room was tiny. The walls surrounding her were soft and consisted mainly of mattresses nailed tightly to the wall. Soft brindle walls were necessary to absorb the sounds from a little girl being raped. Also, that she would not smash her head open when she had been losing her mind, realizing even at the early age that death was preferable to such suffering. Months passed, and little Lily no longer screamed or howled. Nor did she try to crack her head open. She played her game, clearly waiting for the right time and place when she would end it all.
